


when you feel like there ain't no way

by Anonymous



Series: it's inevitable, baby [5]
Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: Blow Jobs, Coming Out, First Time Bottoming, M/M, Sappy stuff, Uhm, sickening romance over wanting to jizz all over each other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-11
Updated: 2020-08-11
Packaged: 2021-03-06 08:08:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25846345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Lando chews his lip for a minute. “On the podium.”“What?” Max sounds excited, more than worried or confused.“When we get a podium together. We’ll probably end up being stupid anyway, might as well.”
Relationships: Lando Norris/Max Verstappen
Series: it's inevitable, baby [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1861756
Comments: 30
Kudos: 172
Collections: Anonymous





	when you feel like there ain't no way

**Author's Note:**

> <333 thank you to everyone who's enjoyed this. idk why I couldn't leave Mando alone but well, I couldn't and my heat-destroyed brain was way too far down the line to do anything but go along for the ride. anyway, they keep like, doing it themselves so whatever, just documenting shit I guess at this point.
> 
> this is the last bit, it flips between their perspectives but you're smart people you can get that.

“What’s important to you? Like, with us?” Max has his arm across Lando’s waist, where they’re lying on Lando’s hotel bed, stark naked with the fan on them both and the aircon turned as cold as it will go. 

Lando has to think about it. He’d kind of like Max to meet his family, properly rather than as someone from karting or work or whatever - Lando’s never brought a significant other home and it’s definitely somewhere on the ‘to do’ list, maybe before they actually get married, if they’re doing that.

He doesn’t need them to move in together. Not yet, anyway. Lockdown sucked but he still wants his own space for now and Lando isn’t interested in whatever Max does with Dan and Martin in Monaco, doesn’t want to really integrate their lives that way. They each have their own friends and then they have each other, no need for the two to blend really.

“I’d like to come out.” He’s been thinking about it for ages, obviously. But especially this year, with everything - it’s not that Lando especially _wants_ to be inspirational but it’s a good thing, that will help other people and it’s not like there’s much effect it can have on them.

Max is quiet for a bit and Lando shifts his weight to press his cheek against Max’s shoulder, kissing the bone-tip there.

“Ok. I guess we can do that whenever, it’ll happen anyway.” Max’s arm tightens round his waist for a minute like he’s trying to reassure Lando that although his voice sounds a bit reedy, unsure, he isn’t really.

Lando chews his lip for a minute. “On the podium.”

“What?” Max sounds excited, more than worried or confused.

“When we get a podium together. We’ll probably end up being stupid anyway, might as well.” If Max is at all cynical about Lando’s ability to make the top three any time soon, he doesn’t say it. Just leans over to kiss him, the arm round his waist moving up to Lando’s shoulder to pull him closer and it’s _way_ too warm for this anywhere but a cold shower but Lando indulges him for a bit, lets Max stick his tongue down his throat to check Lando really means it.

Max’s hands end up everywhere and Lando puts his own on Max, groping at hipbones and muscular thighs and where Max’s waist curves up to his ribcage, Lando’s fingers gripping into Max’s back. It’s sexy and just a little combative, almost like they’re wrestling until Max nearly knocks Lando off-balance, rolling them over so Lando has to grab at Max’s shoulder to steady himself over him. “What?”

“Fuck me.” Max says it quickly, in a burst, eyes crinkling with the flush of embarrassment.

Lando shifts his hips slightly, grinding them together to get his meaning across, “You mean…?”

“Yeah.” Max sort of pants it out, looking slightly uncertain but with that determined jaw set that says the decision’s been made and that’s it. 

Lando can’t pretend it’s not kind of exciting, as a concept. He loves getting fucked by Max, obviously - he’s really _good_ at taking Max’s dick and between them they can get each other off in every way but he is still a dude and fucking people himself feels pretty great, too. “We’ve never-”

“I know. That’s why I want to.”

Lando tries to stop staring at Max, underneath him. “Ok.”

It takes a minute to find the lube, Lando normally more into lying back and letting Max sort that but if Max doesn’t respond to getting fingered quite the way Lando does, he’s clearly enjoying it. They kiss all the time Lando’s fingers are inside him, Max’s hands on his jaw to guide their mouths together and keep it sweet, light, until Lando pushes him back into the pillows with one shoulder and tongue-fucks his mouth the same way he’s working lube into Max.

He takes his time, aware that if Max has _ever_ done this before then it’s been awhile and that while he loves Max’s dick, Lando’s is a bit more to take. Max seems to appreciate it, relaxing slowly while Lando eases the way with his other hand wetly teasing Max’s dick. Even if Max is dumb enough not to tell him if he’s uncomfortable, Lando can work it out from when he goes softer and he knows he’s got it right when Max is twitching in his hand, precum starting to bead at the head.

Lando breaks the kiss, pulls back to look at Max while he’s lubing his own dick up, a few strokes to remind it this isn’t just a technical performance for Max’s prostate. The view is easily enough to have him _very_ hard, Max flushed all up his chest and looking breathless, like he’s just done a hard workout.

He’s never fucked someone without a condom before, feels a bit like he’s missed a step but given Lando lets Max come in him about three times a day there’s not really any point worrying. Max is obliging about lifting his hips for a pillow, loosely hooking his thighs round Lando and letting himself be bent up a bit so Lando can still kiss him.

He goes slowly, working Max’s cock the whole time he’s inching into him and watching Max’s face, a little concentration going on in his expression but nothing pained, even when Lando leans down over him. Waiting sucks because Max is tight and hot and clenching down on him, adjusting to being stretched around Lando and he needs to not think about that or there’s going to be a repeat of Max’s stamina the other night. “Ok?”

Lando jerks Max a few times, hand loose and brushing the head, before he gets a sighed-out reply, “Yeah. Yeah it’s lovely.”

It’s a little unexpected, how blissful Max looks, as Lando feels him relax enough around him that he can move. It makes him want to take care of Max, kissing his collarbone as he thrusts gently, rocking into Max’s body and trying to angle up, to hit that spot.

Max doesn’t get wild, like he does, no back-arching or moaning but he sinks further into the bed, wraps his legs tighter round Lando and his hands go to Lando’s shoulders, biceps where he’s holding himself up over Max. Little breathy noises tell Lando when he’s doing something good, concentrating on sucking a hickey over Max’s heart and feeling his pulse thud there.

Lando leans back, propping himself on one hand and putting the other on Max’s dick and he’s not really thinking about finishing himself, the movement a little too gentle to really get him off except that as soon as he touches Max again everything is _so_ tight it makes him grunt and have to think about slightly less sexy things for a second. “Fuck. Max, baby.”

Max _does_ moan at getting called ‘baby’ and Lando knows how to make this _so_ good for him, suddenly. “I love you. I can’t believe I get to marry you-” Max sounds _broken,_ in the best way, dick angry-red and rock hard in Lando’s hand, “I’m gonna be yours forever, I mean it.”

Things were already a lot of the way there but Max clearly can’t cope anymore, clenching and half curling up at Lando, head against his arm, as he works Max through it. It’s messy, spunk covering Lando’s hand and it probably shouldn’t turn him on, thinking that’s how much Max jizzes in him but also he’s a bit too close to coming to be on any kind of wholesome plane.

Pulling out gently, Lando uses the jizz hand to jerk himself with an urgency he hadn’t realised he’d been holding back from, his own moans loud in his ears when he comes up Max’s abs, too. 

“That won’t work forever.” Max says it while he’s still panting, mouth half-muffled by the pillow.

“Yeah it will, when we’re still together.”

Lando smirks all the way to the bathroom for something to clean up with, hearing Max whining behind him. 

“On the podium.” Max says it, with that certain tone he has, into Lando’s chest, squeezing the arm he’s got round him and Lando tries really hard to pretend his dick doesn’t twitch back to interest at the thought.

\-----

“I’m assuming you know what I’m going to talk to you about.” Christian is being _way_ too friendly, like he’s about to give Max a fatherly heart-to-heart. Which he should surely know isn’t Max’s comfort zone.

“Hmm.” Max sits down on the chair opposite Christian, keeping his expression neutral. It’s almost exciting this is happening, after so long of wondering when or if it would.

“Now, I understand this year has been difficult but this isn’t what we’d expect from you.” Christian’s clearly trying to be kind in some way that always comes across as sleazy and Max _nearly_ laughs. Like anyone’s got his best interests at heart or he’d have it any other way.

“Well. It’s 2020, you can’t fire me for being gay.” It’s not like he’s expecting his voice to shake but Max is pleasantly surprised by how nonchalant he sounds, for all there’s a bit of panic fluttering somewhere. He knew this wasn’t going to be like McLaren, draping Lando in a pride flag for the team celebrations but well, Max makes lots of trade-offs and the things he wants definitely include it not being a total shock he’s on the podium.

“Not… legally speaking, no. But fraternisation, with another team…” Max rolls his eyes.

“You’re not firing me for doing that on the podium - which other driver have you got who’d even have been up there? Stop fucking around, Christian. I promise I don’t share the blueprints with him, we’ve got better things to do together.” He puts a bit of threat in the last sentence, making it clear he’s happy to talk through the details of _what_ exactly, if Christian pushes him.

“He’s also not in your bubble.” Max snorts, as though _this_ is the issue. 

“Well then, the FIA can tell me not to kiss him.” Christian visibly twitches on ‘kiss’ and Max feels something like the rush of competition at how uncomfortable he can make Christian about this. “C’mon, tell me off when I crash or whatever but this doesn’t matter.”

Christian sighs, sits back, looking shrewd. “You like him that much?” Max just shrugs, nods - yeah, of course he does. “How long?”

“I’m not telling you about his di-”

“ _How long have you been together_ , Max?” He gets control of the snicker, tries to be serious because well, he is about Lando.

“Ages. It’s not new, I’m not having a quarantine breakdown or whatever. You’re gonna have to get over this, McLaren are already painting the garage rainbow.” Max feels a bit bubbly-excited at just the thought. Of _course_ they’re going batshit over it because Lando’s adorable and Max would have cringed so hard he’d rupture something if his team tried to be cute like that, he’d much rather make Christian do the flinching.

There’s a pause, where Christian mostly just drums his fingers on the table. “You’re right, I can’t fire you - or probably stop you because I know what you’re like, Max.”

He grins. Because yes, he’s really good at winning and this is a game just like the racing is.

“Just don’t let it affect anything on track. And maybe tone it down in Russia.” 

Max eye-rolls again because _duh,_ also if they’ve been hiding it this long it must be obvious they can behave themselves. “Do you want me to make a statement or whatever?”

“Not really. In fact we’d really prefer you didn’t - we didn’t say anything about your girlfriend, whatever her name was.” Like Christian doesn’t know, just trying to regain some of the upper hand by pretending this hasn’t shaken him up. 

He grins. “Ok. Can I go?”

Posting from his driver room, face down on the massage table while getting the _shit_ beaten out of his calves by his trainer, Max tries to _compose_ an Instagram post. He’s found a photo he likes - not the snogging one, it’s just before that, with Lando looking up at him all wide-eyed excitement and he’s reaching for Max and you can _just_ see the ring, if you’re looking for it, although his hands are a blur of frantic grabbiness.

Max is looking away from the camera, face turned to Lando and mostly hidden by the cap that’s yet to be knocked off, anyway. It shows enough and not _too_ much that he’s uncomfortable with it, ponders a caption for ages, scrolling through emoji in between gritting his teeth at what’s happening to his lower legs.

He gets stuck thinking about Lando’s hands, nearly posts the nail varnish one but that’s incomprehensible to anyone who isn’t them and Max wouldn’t be bothering to post anything if that was what he meant. It does give him an idea, though, thinking back to painting Lando’s nails at Silverstone. 

**maxverstappen1:** ❤️🧡💛💚💙💜

\------

Lando’s own caption is much more solemn. He puts the team shots - upside down with the rainbow flag being held up over him, dripping with champagne and glitter in the garage, his mechanics smearing pride colours on each other and Andreas wrapping the flag round them both, arm round Lando and one hand over his own heart - in a different post because that’s a celebration and it should be.

But he also wants to find the words, doesn’t let his social media dude do it. 

He goes for a picture of them kissing where he doesn’t look too dwarfed by Max, jumping up at him as much as Max is grabbing Lando and where they’re grinning into each other’s mouths, Lando’s hands in his hair and the blur of a Pirelli cap falling to the floor somewhere off behind Max’s head. 

**landonorris:** I wanted to talk about this for a long time because I know how important it is. To me because I didn’t always see this when I was growing up and to you guys because I always want to be honest about who I am. The world can seem really scary but your not alone and love does win. Thinking about anyone who cant live as themself and proud to be able to show this. If it helps even one person then I’m happy. Thank you to everyone whose supported me. Peace and love to everyone! (Especially you. I ❤️ you)

Max replies with three hearts and Lando clutches his phone so long Jon has to poke him in the head to get him to pay attention.

\------

Lewis is giving him a shrewd look, while they’re waiting for the pre-race press conference. The mask doesn’t help, expression a little inscrutable. “How long did you hide it?”

Max blinks, not ready for that as a question. “I dunno. Too long, probably.” He can feel the weight of cowardice on him and hates it, knows Lewis is asking because it’s not like he has the option to disguise his identity like that. And Max knows he can’t really expect support, given his own flakiness.

Lewis nods, thoughtful. “I always kind of thought it but you don’t wanna like, diagnose people.”

“Me? Or Lando?” Max tries to force himself to relax, slumping in the awkward, hard chair and hearing it creak ominously. 

The laughter, genuine and giggling, isn’t expected. “You, man - Lando’s just a nerd, I didn’t even think he had sex.”

“He -” Max feels himself blush crimson, _christ._ “He definitely, uhm, does.”

Lewis laughs again, looking genuinely like he might lose it into a proper unable-to-stop fit, like Lando gets. “Yeah man, I - oh god - I guessed. He stuck his frickin’ tongue down your throat far enough to COVID test you.”

That’s really not a sexy thought. It’s _really_ not a sexy thought. It’s just that Lando kissing him is and Max swallows, hard. “Yeah, well. We’d agreed, like. A podium.”

He looks away from the scrutiny, not able to take how kind Lewis looks about it, some sort of fond pride beaming from him. “That’s frickin’ cute. I’m happy for you guys, it’s good. Good for the sport, good for you - believe me, it’s better to just live yourself.”

Max is not ready for this conversation, with Lewis of all people. “Yeah.”

Mercifully, Carlos arrives and the press conference gets underway with only both the people alongside Max shooting him curious glances every time he opens his mouth, trying not to squeak or say anything dumb into the four-foot-away mic. Christ, Lando had better be free tonight (and he nearly asks Carlos but it’s way too desperate) because actually yeah, Max likes being hugged and his nearly-home race is _not_ the venue he wanted this particular scrutiny at.

Carlos puts a hand on his arm, when they’re leaving, an eyebrow pointedly raised. “Max, he’s wearing a ring?”

He’s totally not having this conversation. “Yeah? Well, he likes it.”

Max meets his eyes, glaring down the challenge of taking it any further. They don’t have to tell people _everything._ And it’s not like Carlos can’t ask his fucking teammate, if he’s that interested.

\-----

Max doesn’t blow him very often. It’s not particularly a choice, they just usually have better things to be getting on with but he’s clearly in _a mood_ of some sort, riled up by the media day and things Lando isn’t going to ask about if Max doesn’t want to tell him. 

And there are so much more _lovely_ things to do with his mouth.

Max’s tongue is flat against the underside of his cock, sucking hard and deep and Lando can already feel his balls getting that wired, electric tingle that says he’s not far off coming so hard he can’t fucking see. It’s partly the sensation being foreign, compared to Max screwing him and partly knowing _everyone knows,_ no sneaking when he shrugged after debrief and said he was going to see Max.

“Max,” he tugs at his hair, “Max, fuck, I’m going to come in your mouth.” 

It’s intended more as a warning than a statement of intent but Max doesn’t pull off, looks up at him and Lando has a serious _moment,_ staring into Max’s eyes and seeing rose gold through the mousey strands of Max’s hair and watching Max swallow him.

He can’t move, afterwards and he knows there’s a sort of orgasm deficit he really shouldn’t be so lazy about addressing because Lando can go like five times a night and Max likes _doing stuff_ to him but also Max just spoons up round him and Lando feels boneless, light, _free_ in his arms. 

Max reaches somewhere behind him, after a few seconds and Lando assumes he’s about to be lubed up for round two, which he’s absolutely down with. But Max drops a box in front of him, on the bed and he tries to focus his eyes on it, fumbling for the velvet shape.

“I figured, because you need two weeks - I got my mum to sort it and like, we don’t have to but I packed your hoodie and I guess people know already, now so I ordered the flowers and-”

Lando rolls round, into him, shuts him up with a kiss. “You fucker, you already know it’s yes.”

Max smirks at him, kisses Lando in return and tucks him against Max’s chest - the sheen of sweat on which really shouldn’t be sexy but Lando accepts he’s just _gone,_ at this point, listening to the rumble of Max speaking. “Yeah, I know. Forever.”


End file.
